Through the Eyes of Taunolindë
by LadyPorpoise
Summary: An old elf can be a library. But a library cannot throw their books at people for them to read. The information must be sought out: the person possessing the knowledge must speak, in answer to question, or trend of conversation. This elf is a living library, among the few that can be counted as one also. Here, is deep knowledge of his past.
1. Who can Understand?

_A/N So it would be better to put this at the end of this thing given it's so short, but I don't think it matters too much. This, is intended for some role-playing friends I have in the game so they can see some things that the character may never reveal, or it will be hard to reveal. But disregarding this: this character will be part of my saga whenever I can get to that point in time. Fun fact: he is the grandson of one of the main characters in the current installment (I'll let you guess who, given the name similarities, if you have read it :) ) I suppose also spoilers for that saga as well..._

 _This is not going to be very linear in terms of installments. It will mostly include things from role play sessions: during or after, and then flashbacks to the past as revealings. Or however I intend to really do this :P Plus, any other player's characters that very likely will be mentioned in this, I will have sought their permission to use said names._

 _To ones who stumble upon this: I hope you enjoy, and hope to hear feedback from you :)_

* * *

One can say I have many faces. Some only a select few see; and one, many, to all, will see. That is how we operate, the elves…To the public and acquaintances we can appear cold and unforgiving, if our kindred have given that vibe. Or we are cheerful and pleasant to be around.

That is how we are, to the common eye. But to family, and dear friends…we can be so much different in demeanor.

A library does not enforce or throw their books at those who pass by, nay, they abide in their shelves, waiting for one to find its content intriguing to research on. Yet in that waiting, so does the possibility of becoming lost in a ruin arise; forgotten for many ages to come. Musty; old, and the information much harder to discern and understand. Any who are willing to delve in ancient texts must have the desire to do so. While it may be forced: for money; self-gain, it can make the past much clearer, or provide reasons for why things are the way they are in the present day.

Why I think thus, because I believe some fail to understand that simplicity. You must look for that knowledge, you should not expect everything to be revealed to you instantly.

Time, searching…a lost art, almost, especially regarding people and their interactions with others.

I will say this, as many who know me know this: I have seen much; much than many, if not all, folk in these hither lands will never see nor experience, and ought not to look for it. It is just common knowledge among all about the elves, being eternal as long as the world lasts, and coming with such long life tends to bring many strange sights and events.

Along with this…Few remain that really know and understand me. Though to be more specific: only one, really understands, though I will admit another: among the Naugrim, I want to believe understands my behavior and questionable state of mind.

Yes…I am indeed mad on one level or another, it just seems to be the fate of pure blooded Noldor. It may not be obvious…but it is there. It may only be an effect of my diminishing and fading body. I cannot be certain, I will let the ones who have seen and understand Fading more than I do be the ones to affirm it.

Ah, the common rants in my mind. Odd things they are…

Well, this will not be the last of them, and I fear they will not cease until my dying breath.

Save the Ainur and the All-father in his splendorous halls amidst the stars…who can understand the mind of Taunolindë, the son of Laimalindë?


	2. The Mother Name

"Pilinmar"

I state my mother-name quietly, as names are exchanged with my new acquaintance. Under normal, or formal, circumstances, I would give my full title. Well, back in my youth I would have been expected to state all my names. Now, in the third-age…it really is not that important. Everyone only needs one name to be known. If they wish to know my title, then they can ask.

Or if my uncle is nearby, then I _would_ have to say them all, less I wish my neck to be strung up.

My father and mother name have been translated into both elven tongues: Quenya and Sindarin, given during my youth, Quenya was banned under the rule of Thingol. Only my epessë is in Sindarin.

Why my second name, and not my first, though?

A habit, for one, and to keep the memory of my mother, who by now should be alive in the Blessed Realm. Ai, I look forward to the day when I step foot on those shores, and to see the ones I have lost over the years: family, friends, and comrades who fell by the sword…

Pilinmar, or Himpilin…even my father name: any elven name, is a fascinating thing with their meaning, and it ought to be held in great value to the one who bears one.

To finally understand its meaning can be…interesting, at the least.

* * *

 _Year 67 of the First Age…_

"What is an arrow, ammë?" I ask from behind my father's back, as I was being carried in a small bag, being the equivalent of a human two-year-old (but I do not know this).

My mother has a bemused expression, if not slightly humored as well at the question. She shares a look with my father; what his thoughts are I cannot tell, since I cannot see…and I do not have the energy to try to climb up on his neck and shoulders to check, even though I want to know. I always like knowing what they think.

"An arrow is…a long, straight, thin stick with a sharp point on one end, little one." She finally answers.

I make a face. I have seen sticks, of course, I even chew on them from time to time…I get scolded when I do of course, but I get _bored_ very easily. But I do not think I have ever seen such a stick ammë describes.

"Sticks fall off trees." I say smartly, "But they are never thin. They are fat and crooked."

Atar chortled a little bit, and I am confused. What is so funny about my statement?

"They do indeed," he says, "but an arrow is a refined stick, designed for a certain purpose for us to use."

"Not for fire?" I ask curiously.

"Nay, not for fire." But atar does not elaborate further.

I get confused a lot, and it makes me sad sometimes, but I get very tired easily too, so normally I go and sleep and the bad feeling is gone. But this time, I want to know why I am called an arrow, a bidding arrow, whatever that is.

"Why am I named a sharp stick? And what is a-bidding?"

Ammë stopped walking, and atar also stops. Why we stopped I do not know, but the next thing that happens is I am being swung off atar's back, taken out of my carrying sack, and then set on ammë's lap as we all sit on the forest floor.

"Abiding means to stay, dear sapling…" She says slowly.

"I stay with you all the time." I interrupt.

"Indeed, you do, anonya, but it is our job to keep you close to us until you reach your maturity."

These are big words I find…I cannot imagine that far into the future…

"But what does that have to do with my name?"

Atar brings me into his lap, and I grab at his hair. His hair is long and silky, brown like some of those birds that caw. A raven, ammë and atar call it.

"View it this way, Taunolindë," he says, "When you were born beneath the shade of the trees…I named you forest song, for you are a new song amongst the wood…in that moment, it was who you were at that very second that I named you."

I was going to say something, but he bids me to stay quiet, and I do.

"The name your mother gave you, she predicts that you will become a person that has certain qualities that are found in an arrow…and in the act of staying."

Again I want to say something; again atar keeps me quiet. I respect this.

"You will understand its meaning when the time comes, little one." Atar smiles faintly, "For now, be our song of the forest."

"Just like you are the sound in grass?"

My parents laugh a little bit, "Yes, dear sapling, just like that."

* * *

Indeed, I understand what my mother saw when she named me…I have lingered for a long time, despite the obstacles thrown at me. Even when I knew what an arrow was, its meaning escaped me still. My mother said I would be among the warriors, which I was, and still am. But I would be one among many in the quiver, most often the one that remains unused, until at the last, desperate strike: when I am needed, will be strung to the string and shot at the enemy.

I shall stay until I am no longer needed, or I have been used to my full potential.

* * *

 _Atar - father_

 _Amme - mother_


	3. Arrogance vs Humbleness

Many people who have come to know me: friends or near friends…they like to make fun of my soberness and gloom. Mostly because I do not smile nor joke. I do, of course, smile, but they fail to acknowledge them, or even look for them. I guess they have a right to comment. But mind you quite often this happens in places of men. Locked away in their drinks and pleasures that barely even last, so they must further indulge in it until they are drooling on the tables or muttering nonsense.

I find it odd they expect an elf to find happiness in the same pleasures that they do, and be glad about it, when our ways of finding fulfillment and happiness are quite different. When relating to an elf to a lesser man.

Set me in a place of elven make, a simple garden, or a good book…well, I would be quite happy. A good joke even may bring a laugh out of me, if it is good enough…Ah, or even a good memory.

I find a lot more joy spending time with my _horse_ than certain people I encounter.

Perhaps I do not express myself enough that they want me to. A shame, a loss, on my part, but I am too weary to put much effort into that change. It would be different if I were truly cold to the core…I do not want to think I am thus. But alas, that is one of the faces I will only show to a person if they have earned that reception.

I am reserved by nature…that is just how I was brought up, and influences while my mind was still developing only enforced it. I ought to be ashamed that I become afraid at times when interacting with people, especially ones who can do serious harm to me (I have experienced enough physical damage to sustain me for centuries). Or the fear of losing friends.

They commend some for saying they are fearless, and laugh at the face of danger…It is almost arrogant. And I want to believe I know what arrogance is: the Noldor are quite known for that bad trait. A little fear will not kill you, and facing that fear is even stronger than if you had none to begin with.

Even then…sometimes it is just better to walk away from a fight than to react and to let it get bloody.

A tough lesson to learn for one of the deep-elves, even the art of patience, but I have learned it over the ages: many times over.

The hard way.

* * *

 _Year 105 of the First Age; near Nargothrond…_

I can hear some of the taller elves gossiping about me again. I am getting quite tired of the words they say. It took a long time to get enlisted in the ranks. Why did it take so long: because they found me unworthy, hardly worthy to even be a Noldo to begin with.

I am not full grown yet, I still have little under a decade for that…but the sergeants, commanders, and all those people higher rank in the army have seen elflings of larger stature and broader build at my age. I was not one of them, and that has gotten me to be called "the laiquendë", given my physical similarities to the green-elves. And it was not a compliment.

I already know they would not like their name to be used in such a crude manner. I would go hide in a tree to escape their anger if I ever was in that situation…I respect them too much.

My shoulders tense as I hear another rude comment. I want to look at my uncles for help, but that would be weak. Noldor do not hide behind their stronger as a barrier…they do their own thing.

We are ruthless.

I am caught by both my shoulders…to my luck to the elves that were saying things about me. I bite my tongue very hard. I do not want to say anything…I do not want to say anything...

"You never will be in the front lines, boy, even when you pass the training."

One of them whispers so none other could hear, "We will make sure you will not."

That does it. I have worked too hard for this to be ridiculed, even threatened to never pass. To be stuck at home doing nothing but sit and read.

I am glad that I had my metal boots on instead of the light scouting gear that is often worn. I wore the metal more often to help strengthen me: to push my limit…And I stomped on both their feet.

I do not care if it was childish. They bloody deserved it. And I grin smugly as they yelp in pain and back off.

But they retaliate…

"You want to play it like this, now? Well, then we will play it that way too."

It all is chaos now. I cannot tell what is happening clearly, except my hair is being pulled, and I am being hit, and in my own self-defense I scratch, bite, and kick.

A command to stop: in a hard, commander voice. The others stop…but my nerves are so high; I hate it so much, this feeling. I probably could kill anyone if they touch me. I _will_ have control over this!

Finally, I look and see our troop-leader staring at all of us with disapproval, and the ellon starts to speak in a dark voice, "Shame on you all for behaving like the Fëanorians, I would think we are better than that! Attacking another elf is a serious offense, worthy enough of a death sentence…"

I know I paled just now. I am glad that we are just children still…But it was not just playful wrestling…we were seriously going to hurt each other, if given the chance.

"Who started this?"

Of course, my adversaries point at me. Who else would they point? Themselves? They even looked like they kept their marbles. I do not look like I did. Now I feel afraid, and even more angry, now that the troop-leader walked up to me and stared me down from his imposing height. Why did I have to be short?

"What instigated you to harm your fellow guards?"

I should keep my mouth shut…I should keep my mouth shut…No, I cannot do it anymore. It all has been boiling inside me, I cannot hold it anymore, "They harass me often, sir." I say bitterly and very sourly; venom in my voice, "Often they threaten me, often they ridicule me. How else should I respond?" I cannot stop…the gate has been opened, "They crossed the line…I have come too far to be treated thus. Especially by you and all the others of higher rank."

It all goes quiet, and the leader looked a bit offended at my words. Well, it is true, and I do not care. I am tired of this…

"I believe you." He said slowly, briefly looking at my attackers, who now have also gone pale, "But it seems your tongue is a bit too wild to speak thus to your superiors, child." He looks at all of us, "All of you will be put on probation, as a warning, and you will do the most unwanted jobs for the next two weeks…Further insolence will be dealt with."

The last words were practically hissed, and the others run away. I do not know what to think, so I stay. He never gave the order to leave…

He gives me a piercing glare; _now_ I run for it. Please, great Eru, do not let me run into my enemies again. My prayer is answered…as I run into my uncle, Aridhor, who gets a grip on me firmly by the shoulders.

I want to hide, I want to hide so badly…Why is he here? I look up slowly, and I feel comfortable with him to speak of the reasons of my anger. Of course, my hopes are shattered at the look of disapproval. Since I am still angry, now I shoot it at him with an irate expression.

"You should not have acted the way you did, sapling."

"I will not stand idle about it anymore! I cannot! I will not survive if I do!"

"Oh, you will not survive if you keep being angry about things." He tugs on my arm, "Now, I will be your guard-"

I resist, both physically and mentally, "I will not submit to anyone anymore!" I hiss, "I will not!"

"Taurglîr-"

"Nay!"

Aridhor now scowls, "You are making this far more difficult than it needs to be." It happened so quickly…much to my embarrassment and humiliation I was now swung over his shoulders like an elfling of seventeen! "Behave younger than you are, then I will play the game as well, elfling."

I know that me pounding and kicking will not get me anywhere, my uncles are quite strong when dealing with these kinds of situations. I hate that they are so skilled at it, so my effort to escape will be futile. I need to let it out, desperately…so I bury my face into his shoulder and just scream.

* * *

I sit in a corner, tired and spent from my emotional outbursts. And the bruises from the fight, I can feel them now. I am so ashamed of what I have done…

I had one of _the talks_ with my other uncle, Undómion. Both are known as the ravens in their regiment. I begin to wonder if they are specifically chosen to deal with unruly soldiers. They bicker and wrestle with each other often anyway, when no one is looking, or when Aridhor does something Undómion gets supremely annoyed by that he has to punch something, or someone.

Of course, the difference between their rivalries and the one I was just in is because it is civil. No one ever gets unduly harmed.

They are both my probation guards…they granted me the small mercy of recovering from my hurts before going to work. I just want to sleep, but I cannot.

Especially when there are footsteps coming…and it is ada.

No…I do not want him to look at me like this. I am a disgrace to our race already.

I hide my face in my arms. I can feel his gaze. Now I can sense he is very close to me, standing before me in fact.

"Look at me."

No, I do not want to.

'Your barricades still need to be worked on, my son.' Not the ósanwë… 'Stop blocking us out; look at me.'

Reluctantly I looked up. Respect for your elders. That is one of the most important things in life. I keep silent though as I watch ada, whose face is kept carefully neutral.

He notes my silence, "They told me what happened…I think you were well informed of the dangers you were putting yourself in when joining the ranks."

"They should not be saying, no, _threatening_ me about never moving forward." I speak finally, though the bitterness is back.

"I agree about that, sapling…though returning the evil with evil will not make it go away."

I recall the part where they did come upon me, with more force…just because I tried to get them to go away. I say nothing again.

Ada had waited for a response, so he sighs when I did not give it to him, "It is a curse we are all bound to, I am afraid. Implemented in our minds it is second nature to us…We can only try: with effort, to escape that pit."

"So I should just let them do what they please?" I snap again. _Big_ mistake.

Ada frowns at my attitude and with coolness he answers, "I know you are frustrated and angered by this, but unleash upon something that cannot be affected by it." He said that effectively, and sulkily I obey by trying to contain myself again, "Our people are divided enough…further division will not help us."

I tune him out at this point…I cannot bring myself to care.

A few moments later, I see Ada get up from his crouched position, and he looks down at me. More disappointment, maybe even hurt was on his face, "Alright then, elfling…since it seems you do not wish to see the greater scale, I shall scale it down for you: by not reacting, you may have only suffered hurt from their words. Eventually, perhaps, the officers would have noticed their cruelty and done something about it, and you would not have needed to be punished. Your opponents hopefully would have stopped…" He shook his head, "Do not feed the fire. You will only burn down the house and surrounding trees by joining the animosity." Ada leaves.

My brows furrow as I start to think about it. Today's events will linger in my mind and heart for a while. But for now, I just want to sleep. I need the energy for what I have coming for me for the next two weeks…

* * *

Being patient must get easier as you get older. I still struggle with keeping my mouth shut and even keeping myself from doing regrettable things. That is something that plagues all races, sadly, so I am not exclusive in this fight of control. Whether people choose to keep their wits about them is not my place to know…

I of course did make my way up in the ranks, and even gained a few loyal comrades when we were scouting the borders and on the battlefield. We watched each other's backs. I am thankful for the friends I have made in this present age.

I do not think I would be alive without them.

* * *

 _A/N Alright, so far this is linear, as is the next chapter. But that may change, eventually. Sequence of events just happen to have it this way._


	4. Dwarves and Beards

Odd to say that I am a son of the Noldor, but I do not even have any great skill in any profession of crafting: be it jewelry making, metal work, weaponry, carving, sculpting…anything that harnesses the elements of Arda. I cannot say that it never interested me to learn, I am still fascinated by the dances of the flames, the sound of a hammer hitting metal, and hissing steam as the heated sword is placed into the water.

I do intend on learning, eventually, be it after the war (if I survive), or in the Blessed Realm. The latter is more likely.

Now that I think on it, I actually have no idea why I did not choose to be tutored when I was younger.

Regardless…I watch the dwarves work in their forges, taking in the sounds surrounding me. A Noldo could withstand being in caves and in underground places longer than others. The stone sings to us, as it does to the dwarves, like the trees to the wood-elves.

Dwarves are remarkable. All too similar to my kin, even…they say that is why we get along so well. I cannot be the judge of that, given I never saw Aulë, and referring to my lack of skill in smith-work…

All of our races have changed over the years. In the case of men, I am sad to say they have fallen lower as the years have passed. It seems it will only get worse. The hobbits, I hope they will retain their cheerful and innocent ways. My folk, despite the sayings that we never change. Well, in a man's lifetime we may be the same, but if they live for many centuries, they may see us change in more ways than one. We will be gone soon, anyway.

The dwarves, they seem unchanged. Their demeanor has remained the same over the ages, their desires, their wants, and their way of life. It all seems the same. I am fully aware that they have been twisted and bent through their trials; some trials that have been shared with other races. When Smaug came to the Lonely Mountain, for example.

The smith asks what I would have made, and now I think upon the medallions I will give to my friend Dagdalin, and our dear hobbit.

How am I a guest to the dwarves: a dwarf friend even…Well, a dwarven elder took interest in my line of work, as a captain of the Free Peoples in Angmar, and we had formed a trade agreement. What was being exported from that dark land…I shudder to think about it.

The pain…it is all too near…

Shake those thoughts away. Ai, first meeting the dwarves as a race. I should not find it as funny as I do. I do not wish to insult my bearded-friends. I smile happily, regardless, at the thought.

Because it involved the beards.

* * *

 _Year 154 of the First Age…_

"They have weasels on their faces! You both should have seen them! It must be a ritual sort of thing, or ceremonial, to hang weasels and ferrets off their chins and cheeks."

I stare at Aphadon with disgust. What had possessed him to think of such a thing? "No one in their right mind would hang dead bodies like that."

"They could be alive…maybe they smear food on their faces. But how those poor things could stay on for that long…" Aphadon wrings his hands together worriedly, "And the pain!"

"Nonsense, you idiot. It has to be horse tails, or some sort of super fine straw." Bramben, seated across from Aphadon and I, said that like it was a fact.

We were part of the guarding an emissary party to make agreements with these people known as Naugrim. We are not official, as we had not come of age just yet (though they had us get used to being out in the wilds often and doing what warriors and scouts do), so I have not seen them yet, as I was not required to be present, but my friends have already.

I am already questioning their state of mind. I am barely a century old, but I think I am saner than they.

"What do they look like?" I ask innocently enough, since I honestly do not know, "Aside from the weasels."

"Stunted…broad." Bramben answers, "And they have gruff voices. It hurts my ears to listen to."

"Do not say that in front of them, though!" Aphadon says quickly, "We do not want to offend…"

"Gwein-dogath, down, now!"

Hearing our superior's command, we all scramble out of the tree and line up before him.

He raises a brow at us, "Do not tell me you have been idle all this time."

Aphadon and Bramben look at me. I kept my face straight, though. I will deal with them later, "There is nothing out of the ordinary, sir…"

He smirks at my response, "No, but you have not seen the Naugrim yet, have you?"

I blink. How is that relevant to anything, aside from relationship matters? "…No, I have not."

"Well, consider this a training exercise…for your eyes. They are…interesting, but very strange. If they are to visit us often in the coming days, then it may do you good to get used to their…strangeness."

Now I know that these stunted people must be odd, if my own chieftain cannot describe them appropriately, "When do the emissaries meet?" I ask.

"Soon…so I suggest you get going: all three of you."

He leaves us then. Looking at my friends' faces, Aphadon's eyes are wide in disturbance, and Bramben looks sulky in having to see the Naugrim again.

As for me…I am a bit excited.

* * *

My eyes.

I cannot stop staring. I have not even blinked for the last minute. Or five minutes.

What _are_ those things!?

"Bloody wake up, Taurglîr!"

My trance is broken as Bramben shakes me out of it. Bless him for saving me from further scarring. But the reprieve does not last long, as I soon look back to the party of dwarves and their furry faces.

We are standing at the edge of the small camp, away from the actual meeting. It is probably a good thing, we are being too disruptive with our whisperings and hushed shouting.

"Do you see what I mean?" Aphadon points at a dwarf, "They have some sort of animal attached to their faces!"

"It cannot be an animal…" I finally gasp from my shock, "The patterns are too different. They even have clasps in them…"

"The fur is unruly! Of course they need clasps!"

"Shut up for a moment. I think one of them is looking at us."

Bramben is right…one of them is looking at us. It…well, I cannot tell if it is a male or female. That part scares me: I cannot tell the difference! What if one comes up and approaches, how would we…

"Why are they staring at us like that?" A dwarf asks. Sweet stars, it hurts my ears. Everything is hurting.

One of our own look at us, gives us a strange expression, before answering, "Ah…well, dear master…they are very young in their years, and have not yet seen much of the world. You are a novelty in that case."

Another dwarf harrumphs, "Well, don't think they need to stand aside like strangers…Have to begin something, after all. Respect your king greatly, as you know."

Yet another one speaks, offering a friendly smile at us, "Come over lads. We don't bite."

Bramben and I shake our heads carefully, not daring to do anything stupid that could destroy this whole arrangement.

"Why do you have weasels on your face?"

If we were allowed to, we would have killed Aphadon on the spot. Bramben immediately tackles our comrade to the floor, pressing a hand to cover his mouth. I can hear the audible gasps that came from everyone in the surrounding area. Here I am standing, going to face their wrath, being responsible just by mere association with the loud mouth.

Many of the dwarves has their hands in their beards. I guess some of them thought they literally had animals on their faces. But now that I look, the stuff on their faces was far too similar to the hair on their heads…

What if it was hair?

"You mean the beards!?" A dwarf says loudly, "Weasels, the butt of my axe! I have never heard of such a thing before!"

Beards?

All the elves are looking at me, as the other two are indisposed in wrestling with each other. I try to amend things by asking the question clearer, though I am very quiet in my anxiety of saying something to further disturb the affair, "W-what my…colleague meant was, what are those things? We have not seen hair grow on faces before."

The dwarf that gave us a kind welcoming answers it, "A beard, laddy. Was that all?"

"I believe it is…" I know that voice anywhere. The chief glances at us, stating his words carefully to be formal in the presence of the Naugrim, "The hour is drawing late…why not take your colleagues and make sure there is not anything that will disturb us."

I nod my understanding; turning towards Bramben and Aphadon who now were sitting, and pulling them by the shoulders to get them up and get away from the glade.

We are going to be in trouble later…

* * *

There was nothing to be found. In fact, the only things that were disturbing the meeting was us. Now we are sitting in a tree in mutual silence. We have not spoken a word to each other.

I must have dozed a little bit, because I see Aphadon wearing a "beard" made from branches, and Bramben was glaring at him hard.

"Beards are weird."

…Good job, Aphadon…


End file.
